Penance
by Meret
Summary: Lex deals with the events of Zero.


Title: Penance  
Spoilers: Zero  
Rating: R (See my notes at the end of the story if you want to   
know why it's rated R)  
Category: Angst  
Summary: Lex deals with the events that occurred in Zero.  
Disclaimer: These characters are owned by Millar/Gough and   
the WB. No profit or infringement is intended.  
My Web Site: http://www.geocities.com/meretsv/  
Email: meret118@netscape.net  
Feedback is even better than chocolate!  
  
My thanks to Elrond50, DCookKC, Starcat, Scarlett007, and   
Alax for information on the club scene. I also want to thank my   
beta readers Reetchick, Rivka T, and Jenn. Without their help   
and encouragement, the story might not have been posted.   
  
*The timeline in the story shifts back and forth.*  
  
  
  
Penance by Meret  
  
  
"Take off your clothes."   
  
He undresses with quick, efficient movements, putting his shirt   
and trousers on the hangers provided. Removing the rest of his   
clothing, he stands waiting, head bowed, body tensed. He was   
never good at this part. He wishes she would drop the theatrics   
and just get on with it.   
  
-----------------------------------  
  
"Dominique's. Name and ID number?"  
  
"Alex 4147367." He'd had to look the number up. It had been   
awhile. He heard the click of a keyboard, and then the voice   
returned on the line, low and sexy enough to make Jessica   
Rabbit jealous.   
  
"Alex. How may you serve us?"  
  
"The same scene as before." More keyboard clicks.   
  
"You'll have to submit to a physical before we'll permit that."  
  
The bruises from the beating by Jude's doppleganger were faded   
enough not to cause concern. "Fine. I want it tonight. I'll be there   
in two hours." He needed this badly. It had been all he could do   
to stay at the Talon's Grand Re-opening for as long he had.   
Though judging from Clark's glances when he left, it hadn't been   
long enough. Never enough, he thought, leaning his head back   
against the velvety upholstery.   
  
"I'll check the schedule."  
  
There wouldn't be a problem fitting him in. He'd pay enough to   
make sure of that and they knew it.   
  
"We'll allow that. Confirm the details of your service for me . . .   
."  
  
He responded half-heartedly, trying to let the droning noise of   
the Lear engine soothe him. He didn't have to worry about the   
instructions; Dominique's was the best. Bruce would have never   
taken him there years ago if it wasn't. They even had a Supreme   
Court Justice on their client list if rumors were true. Just two   
more hours till he was in Gotham. He could hang on that long.   
Two more hours and he wouldn't have to worry anymore.   
Wouldn't have to think anymore.  
  
----------------------------------  
  
When Bruce first said Lex was going to stop killing himself   
even if the need had to be beaten out of him, Lex had thought he   
was speaking metaphorically.   
  
Bruce found him in Hong Kong, a place where anything and   
anyone was for sale. Not that Lex ever had to pay for   
companionship. There were always people happy enough to   
share in whatever oblivion Lex was using that day. Bruce had   
never approved of the way Lex "partied", and he said it just that   
way too, so you could almost *see* the quotation marks. That   
had only engendered grim lectures, though. He'd been positively   
apoplectic however, for Bruce anyway, when Lex had moved   
from alcohol, ecstasy and prescription drugs to cocaine, LSD,   
heroin and finally conquered his fear of needles.   
  
If it had been anyone else he would have told them to go fuck   
themselves - in several languages. But if anyone could   
understand seeing someone shot in front of them, it was Bruce.   
Of course, Bruce hadn't been responsible for that shooting. That,   
and the blackouts he had started having, made him decide to   
give Bruce's warped idea a chance. It was fine for Lex to hurt   
himself, but he wasn't willing to risk hurting another person   
while his atoms were trying to decide whether they were   
particles or waves. No one else would pay for his stupidity.   
Never again.  
  
Bruce usually went to Michelangelo's. He preferred men simply   
because of their greater upper-body strength, but Lex would   
never let himself be that vulnerable to another man. His father   
had trained him far too well for that to have ever been an option   
for Lex.   
  
Bruce's plan succeeded.   
  
For the most part.   
  
He still drank when he felt like it, but he did stop doing drugs.   
And when it became too bad: when the nightmares started again,   
when he couldn't draw a deep breath, when the ache grew more   
and more frenzied until it became a spinning St. Catherine's   
Wheel of need so bad he wanted to outrun is own skin, when it   
took every inch of his control not to resemble Munch's painting -   
he went to Dominique's. It gave him . . . not absolution, nothing   
could do that, but an escape, a place to rest, if just for a while.   
  
----------------------------------  
  
Lex knew Amanda wouldn't believe him. She'd known Jude for   
years. Lex was a freshman. If he hadn't tested into the graduate   
chemistry classes, they would probably have never even met.   
Unlike the other students, she didn't suck up to him or hate him   
for his money and name. Amanda was warm, intelligent, and   
funny; she treated him like a real person, and Jude didn't deserve   
to even have her speak his name. He'd been shocked but not at   
all surprised that Jude was cheating on her.   
  
Hence the plan. A simple phone call from Kasitch to let him   
know when Jude arrived, and she sees Jude for the lying scum   
he is. Lex knew Amanda would never date an 18 year old, but he   
could still be her friend and provide a shoulder to cry on. She   
was much better off without Jude.   
  
The perfect plan. Zero consequences.  
  
For everyone except the guy in the body bag.  
  
----------------------------------  
  
Lex draws a deep breath as she starts to buckle his wrists into   
the dark suede restraints above him. He can smell her perfume,   
something with sandalwood, but ignores it. His cock remains   
flaccid throughout her actions. This isn't about sex. Lex doesn't   
care for pain with his sex, at least not this level of pain. And on   
the few occasions restraints do appear in his sex life he's never   
the one wearing them, regardless of his partner's gender. He tugs   
reflexively on the cuffs when she finishes, the sheepskin lining   
gripping him snugly enough to hold, yet not tightly enough to   
prevent circulation.   
  
He shifts, allowing her to fasten a wide belt on him to protect his   
kidneys. Leaning his cheek against the post, he tries not to   
hyperventilate. A bead of fear sweat crawls down his chest. He   
craves the result, but hates the process. Her shadow moves on   
the stone wall in front of him. The first time he'd been in this   
room, he'd been shocked at how much it resembled the Luthor   
castle. Then he'd laughed so hard it hurt, kneeling on the Tabriz   
rug, unable to stand up under the hilarity of it all.  
  
"Repeat your safe word to me," she says firmly, her hand resting   
on his back.  
  
"Purple." His mother's favorite color. She would be so appalled   
by this, he thinks.  
  
The woman nods, and walks a precise distance behind him, the   
slight swish of her silk pants like a hiss in the silence.   
  
He sees the shadow figure on the wall raise it's arm, and   
squeezes his eyes shut, flinching in anticipation. *Fuck!* He   
gasps in pain at the first blow. He's forgotten how badly it hurts.   
No buildup and as hard as she can without drawing blood, exactly  
as he'd requested.   
  
Lex loses count as the heavy whip descends againand again. The  
eruption inside him builds, gathering momentum. Hisbody jerks in  
reaction to each hit. Every lash mark burns vivid and individual.   
Lex knows he could diagram where each one lands, from the muscles   
on his back, to the sensitive area at the top of his thighs. His   
skin is hit by lightning over and over.   
  
*A bolt from Zeus in his shoulder; red, hot, soaking through his   
shirt. A thunderclap and Jude is, disbelief on his face, is falling,   
falling forever. Not like this. This wasn't the plan How can it   
take someone so long to hit the ground?*  
  
In the hands of someone less skilled, the floor would be   
spattered with blood. The leather whip moves with the regularity   
of a metronome. Each strike sounds like a shot.   
  
*Smoke from the gun, the smell of carbon, and Amanda shatters,   
shiny pieces smashed at his feet. 'Stay away from her, Lex. It's   
best for everyone. Haven't you done enough damage?' *  
  
Tears flow down his contorted face; refusing the undeserved   
comfort of screaming, he twists in torment, struggling   
instinctively, grunts forced from him with each impact,   
lightheaded as the pain sizzles through his nerves with stroke   
after searing stroke. The pressure rises. Not there yet; not yet.   
He sucks in loud gulps of air, nostrils flaring to get as much   
oxygen as possible.   
  
Ambien and carbon monoxide on the coroner's report faxed this   
morning. Lex had done his research. Too late, of course.   
"Symptoms include weakness, dizziness, vomiting, and   
convulsions, ending in unconsciousness." Alone. So alone. Her   
gentle face colored crimson in the police photos. Full circle; he'd   
failed her again.   
  
Sweat pours off him, his wet skin increasing the sting of each   
blow. His back and buttocks are a blazing mass of crisscrossing,   
furious welts. The savage beating goes on and on, stoking the   
intensity inside him. Arching his spine against the strikes, the   
frenzied clawing at his core, like some enraged wild beast   
desperate to escape, stretching for release, reaching, straining   
every muscle for that switch, the click to quiet the clamor inside   
him. Almost; almost . . . Head back, eyes clenched tight, wildly   
pulling on his bonds. His throat swells, the words cutting him as   
they come out. "Amanda, I'm sorry! Amanda!"   
  
"I promise!" He should have known better. No matter what the   
cost to himself, he'll never let another friend down, he swears.   
This is all his fault. He should have never listened to Phelan.   
*Anything.* He'll do anything at all to support a friend in the   
future. Whatever it takes, he vows. His body goes rigid as the   
fire explodes inside of him, a star burst behind his eyes, flooding   
him with relief.   
  
Panting unevenly, he sags limply, head lolling forward. Empty,   
hollow even in his bones, gliding like a bird on updrafts of   
endorphins, he is released. The woman takes off the belt and   
guides him to a padded table, helping him to lie on his stomach.   
The lights are dimmed and candles are lit, their flickering giving   
the room an eerie, underwater atmosphere that matches the   
floating sensation Lex feels.   
  
He hears her get the leeches ready as he rests in a half-conscious   
haze. The idea disgusts him, but between the bloodsuckers to   
reduce the bruising, anesthetic gel, ice packs, and some Tylenol   
3, the pain should be just tolerable enough to return to work in a   
couple of days. He closes his eyes against those thoughts,   
wanting to hang on the sense of weightlessness as long as he   
can, shivering as he feels the first slimy bite on his skin.  
  
  
End  
  
  
Author's Notes:   
This story doesn't contain sex, but it does contain S&M.   
If that bothers you, don't read it.  
Bruce is, of course, Bruce Wayne.  
Munch's most famous painting:   
http://www.geocities.com/meretsv/scream.jpg  
Ambien is a commonly prescribed sleeping pill.   
It's powerful and quick acting. 


End file.
